


Flirting with Death

by retikrit



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood Drinking, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Vampire Hubert von Vestra, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retikrit/pseuds/retikrit
Summary: Hubert needs someone he can rely on to feed regularly. Sylvain is a happy donor. It's an almost flawless arrangement.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Hubert von Vestra
Kudos: 22





	Flirting with Death

Sylvain lets Hubert bite him for the chemical euphoria the victim is supposedly a slave to. He is, in a way. But he’s even more a slave to the very last seconds of the feeding – the ones that determine whether he’ll live or not. The doubt, the fear, the hope, everything mixes into an explosive combination that makes him feel neither alive or dead. He’s a slave to Hubert’s self control.

And without fail – Hubert stops. Brings Sylvain back in the land of the living, no looking back. Because of the promise of a next time, of more blood, and perhaps some pity. That’s their almost flawless arrangement.

The war changed nothing, if anything Hubert needs to feed more often and Sylvain is now pretty well acquainted with the spy master’s personal chambers. It’s, fortunately, no problem for Sylvain’s merely human body, whose crest’s power running in his blood helps him rebuilding his strength and blood faster than he should. It would be flawless, if his excess of blood didn’t have the effect of having a slight chance of making Hubert dependent on it.

It’s a studied and identified phenomena – a vampire can, over time, have a preference in the blood they consummate. With the unpleasant side effect of _affection_. Sylvain has heard Edelgard warning Hubert about it several times, but neither of them take it more seriously than Sylvain’s occasional joke about him growing on Hubert. It is, after all, just that. A joke.

Hubert never hid his disgust, or near hatred, concerning Sylvain. But Sylvain wouldn’t like the guy half as much if he wasn’t so sincere in his cutting observations. And, well, his bite. Hubert succumbing to made up affection for his meal would destroy the little balance they have. The arrangement is good just the way it is.

* * *

The trees conceal pretty well the light of the sun, but it could also mean it is much later than Sylvain thought. Soon, he will have no visibility at all.

He finds it hard to breathe. He should call his horse, get a better shot at surviving this, but all that’s left is exhaustion. Screaming would only disclose his position to possible enemies. His best move is not making one, and he sits down, hands pressing on his wound.

That’s really all it takes – a second of inattention, a spear, and a fall. He’s lucky the woods make it easy to hide with the tail between your legs. He wouldn’t be able to fight, not like that.

He looks up. This could be it. It wouldn’t be in Hubert’s bed, but it would be just as satisfying. Life is slowly leaving him, and he makes no effort to stop it beyond the weak press of his hands. He’s already fought in this meaningless war, soldiers die everyday. Maybe he finally gets to end this story.

There’s the soft sound of hooves nearby. He tries to be even quieter, as he looks around. Sure enough, that’s not his horse. He grimaces – maybe he didn’t even deserve to go away in peace. Maybe it was meant to be painful.

The enemy’s knight walks at random, suggesting they have no idea where Sylvain is. He plans to keep it that way, and stops moving. It’s difficult – they’re far away from the actual battle now. A leaf cracking is much louder, here.

He keeps this up for about thirty seconds, before he catches his breath and the knight stops. They listen, and Sylvain can already see how he fails, how the knight will catch sight of him.

It’s enough to make it happen. The hooves get closer, Sylvain closes his eyes.

The horse stops. A few seconds later, something hits the ground, and Sylvain realizes the knight must have gotten off.

Sylvain coughs pathetically. A sword is drawn, and he’s pretty sure it’s not his own. “You imperial scum deserve nothing than dying like dogs.” He spits, it reaches Sylvain’s hair. Well, as far as deaths go, this one sums up his life pretty well. It’s a shame he doesn’t have the strength to smile through it.

But the sword never reaches his neck – instead he feels a toxic, familiar breeze, that can only be attributed to black magic. The knight screeches as his armor melts, him under it. It’s a terrible way to go, much more terrible than what Sylvain was going to be offered.

He looks up, and a very sweaty Hubert stares back at him. He idly wonders if he had to run to get there, and how he knew where Sylvain was.

It doesn’t matter. It seems he will a lot more time than he thought on his hands. “Hey,” he rasps.

Hubert kneels down next to him, but Sylvain is too delirious to find it funny that Hubert would dirty his clothes for him. “You’re wasting blood,” Hubert states, but it sounds more winded than it should. Sylvain wouldn’t reply anything witty to that, even if he could. Hubert pushes his hands out of his way, and brings his mouth to the gaping wound. There’s still blood coming out of it, but the knowledge it is all going directly in Hubert’s body brings some comfort to Sylvain.

Maybe not in Hubert’s bed then, but still with Hubert’s mouth on him. Sylvain can work with that.

Hubert pulls away for a few seconds – and for some reason it makes Sylvain feel more miserable than he did when that knight spit on him. But it’s quick, Hubert dives in once again. He understands the reason of this interruption soon after, when a vulnerary is brought to his lips gently. So, Hubert plans to keep him alive.

Like most things, he doesn’t fight it.

“You’re foolish. You’re – you should know better than letting your blood spill this way.”

Sylvain is too busy chugging the welcome medicine to reply. He doesn’t have much to say that Hubert doesn’t already know either. Hubert mumbles, cursing Sylvain’s name, or maybe his bloodline. Sylvain stops paying attention.

He knows Hubert wants to win this war, wants to see Edelgard victorious more than anything. A life, as little as it is, is always useful on the battlefield. You don’t win a war if you let your troops die easily preventable deaths. So, Sylvain is once again part of the living.

* * *

He wakes up in the infirmary. It feels oddly familiar, in a terribly ironic kind of way. There is no one watching over him. The people who once did that aren’t here, or maybe some place more peaceful. The sun shines brightly and warms Sylvain. This isn’t so bad.

Hubert visits him the next day, to announce that he’s free to go. Sylvain still feels a little weak, but is happy to be allowed outside. Maybe he’ll even get a girl to accompany him a stroll, a vulnerable man with bandages has some charms.

He has some trouble staying upright, and Hubert spares him the humiliation of falling down by helping him stay up. He still has time to walk through the gardens. Sometimes the shadow of Hubert’s umbrella keeps the sun away from him, but he doesn’t mind as much as he used to.

* * *

The next time Hubert bites him, he takes his time, drinks smaller amounts of blood, agonizingly slow. Any attempt Sylvain makes to talk, mostly to joke, is shut down, or ignored. The usual five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen, then thirty. By the time Sylvain feels the end is near, he’s half asleep. Hubert bit him in three different places now, and still isn’t finished. He goes for a fourth place, when Sylvain simply says, “No.”

This isn’t fun anymore. He isn’t bored – nor overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what caused the change of pace, and what is supposed to be a fun time is suddenly way too intimate and downright frightening. He has a feeling Hubert won’t kill him tonight. “No,” he repeats, breathless.

Hubert stares at him. His face is immaculate – he wouldn’t let a single drop of blood go to waste. “I am not done.”

“I am,” Sylvain snaps back. “Shop’s closed until you suck me like you mean it.”

“Is this not to your taste?” Hubert asks in a voice that clearly indicates he expected Sylvain would dislike it.

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m starting to feel it’s to yours.” He hits right, Hubert’s face hardens a little. “Oh, I’m right? You’re not starting to like this a little too much, are you?”

“That is a very bold assumption to make.” He hovers threateningly. Sylvain is immune to it.

“Oh cool, so there’s no problem? You could always find someone else to suck on their neck,” he reminds cheekily.

Hubert doesn’t look amused at all. “That would be a lot of trouble to go through because of a brat’s whim.”

“Would it?”

Hubert completely pulls away this time, and stands up. “I believe we’re done here.”

Sylvain will not forget how Hubert eluded the matter.

* * *

The war is won.

Against all odds, Sylvain survived. Unlike old friends and numerous good, better people, he survived. He’ll be able to return to Gautier and start working on making the post-war period transition smoothly into a new era. He will help turn Edelgard’s vision into a reality, a world where relics and crests become meaningless bits of the past.

There is no one waiting for him, nowhere.

The feasts aren’t as generous as they should be, but the spirit is there. It will take time to rebuild, but now is the time to rejoice.

Sylvain finds it very poetic to choose this night to end his life.

The dagger was a gift from Felix, many years ago. The shirt is from Mercedes. The bathtub is in Hubert’s chambers – he will not be back for the evening. Maybe Sylvain’s body is his parting gift to him, and silent thank you for their delightful meetings. Maybe it is all meaningless in the end.

He’s been flirting with death for so long, now that he actually has it within his grasp he doubts. He craves this – but still thinks about the few things he leaves behind.

The cut is clean, perfect. Sylvain sighs as he leans back. He imagines Felix yelling at him for using a gift for this kind of occasion, Ingrid scolding him for the mess he’s making. Maybe it’s for the best, that it’s meaningless.

He keeps his eyes open for as long as he can. He’s finally at peace.

Then, a door opens, not so far away. Sylvain is conscious enough to know it’s bad news. Then again, he’s so close now, it might not matter at all.

Surely, it is Hubert looking down on him. The first time of his life that he decides to be unpredictable is also the one time Sylvain needs him not to be.

He can’t look at him properly, or hear whatever he has to say about the mess Sylvain is making. Death can still take him before Hubert does anything.

He feels something touching his mouth, opening it. He’s too weak to do anything about it. He tastes blood.

He understands what is happening, and is immediately filled with rare rage. It takes his last strengths to stop himself from swallowing. He fails – terribly.

He feels the change in his guts. He feels ill. He wants to scream. He chokes on the blood.

Arms hold him through it.

* * *

When he wakes up, all the anger has left him. There is only sadness, and despair. He’s no longer alive, but he isn’t dead either. His existence insists on continuing. The heavy curtains stop the sunlight from coming in.

He sobs loudly.

* * *

Somehow, all of Enbarr knows what the poor Gautier boy attempted. He’s reminded of his failure in every corner, in every look. The few girls still interested in his company try to comfort him, to speak to him in a way that is not superficial enough. It’s too soon, too raw. He prefers lurking in the shadows alone than try to step into the light again. That isn’t an option anymore.

Hubert’s state greatly degraded in the meantime. Sylvain can’t help feeling the petty joy of not being alone in his suffering. It’s obvious Hubert hasn’t been drinking. He ignored Edelgard’s warnings, and felt in control. Now the withdrawal must hit hard.

“I still can’t understand _why_ ,” Sylvain says one night. Despite their disagreements, they still occasionally meet in Hubert’s study, when all living creatures are asleep. “I have more than done my part, as a general. We’ve won the war. Like this – you can’t feed off me.” He could, technically, drink Sylvain’s blood, but it would no longer satisfy his hunger. “You have no use of me, the way I am. You should have finished the job when you found me, and told everyone there was nothing you could do. I still can’t understand why you didn’t.”

He doesn’t really expect an answer. Hubert surprises him, again. “In truth, it was a selfish act.”

Sylvain frowns. He looks at Hubert, still trying to decipher what he means. The most likely theory makes him rolls his eyes. “What, you brought me back to make fun of me? Watch me suffer some more? Damn, Hubert, that’s low.”

Hubert doesn’t correct him, and glares at him like a difficult equation he cannot solve.

Sylvain is done feeling like shit. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’m going away.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. Yes, I know, I wasn’t meant to go to Gautier before another moon or so, but what can I say? I like surprises.” Hubert looks increasingly preoccupied. Sylvain doesn’t let himself think about it. “You clearly won’t let me die. But I’ll find a way, far from here.”

Hubert doesn’t look particularly sad about it. “I see.”

It kills Sylvain a little, too. He feels silly, hoping Hubert would at least consider asking him to stay. There’s nothing left to say, nothing for him here.

* * *

The carriage is meant for long journeys, the heavy curtains allow people like Sylvain to travel safely. He will leave before dawn.

The freshness of the morning would normally make his breath visible. He doesn’t dwell on it. He allows himself to look back, just once, at the imperial castle.

He blinks when he thinks he sees a black silhouette marching towards him. But it isn’t an illusion – there is someone walking towards him. A desperate, tall, dressed in black man.

Sylvain distantly notes that this isn’t the first time Hubert chased after him, quite literally.

“Something happened?” Sylvain asks, mostly out of habit. A Hubert in a hurry, is a panicked Hubert.

“I – I cannot let you go, if you are mistaken about the reasons behind my actions.”

Nothing in that sentence makes sense. “What?”

Hubert looks more annoyed now, but strangely meek too. “That is to say, you need to know the extent of my selfishness when I decided to change you.”

Oh. Sylvain definitely didn’t need to hear about it any more. “Oh yeah? You’re gonna stop me from going away?”

“No that’s – please listen.” The shock of hearing Hubert say please quietens Sylvain. “I had thought, that perhaps, your action was misguided. And if you were not quite gone completely, you would realize that.”

Sylvain is speechless.

Hubert looks uncomfortable. “And maybe, you would stay by our side a little longer.”

“But you have no use of me. You knew that would happen, so I still don’t –”

“That is _not_ about your blood!” The volume of his voice surprises them both. “It never was,” he adds, more softly. “I had this fantasy, you see, that I could not only bring your body back, but also your will to live. I suppose fantasies aren’t meant to be anything more than that. I… I do mourn the taste of your blood. Perhaps I will never have a drink sweeter than that. But my selfishness… it has everything to do with me wanting to spend more time with you.”

It’s ridiculous. It’s opera-worthy ridiculous. Sylvain would completely dig it, if he weren’t in the exact place he is now.

“And I suppose I am the heart of your current problem. I’m here to offer you my service, and search for a way to end your existence. For good.”

That is, by far, the most romantic thing Hubert has ever said to him. Sylvain can’t help laughing. “You’d do that for me?”

“So it seems,” Hubert confesses.

Sylvain laughs some more.

It upsets Hubert. “You are the most incomprehensible, foolish, disingenuous man I’ve had the displeasure of knowing, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, but you fancy it so much you made me your kin,” Sylvain smoothly points out. Hubert looks about as annoyed as he usually is. That’s a good sign. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Sylvain shrugs, feeling much lighter now. “I’ll stay a little longer. Maybe try to drink something. See if I still want to take you up on your offer.”

There’s a flash of surprise in Hubert’s eyes, but he conceals it quickly. “Very well.”

Apparently, that’s all he’s going to get from Hubert. Sylvain doesn’t particularly mind, and excuses himself to call off the carriage.

They have to run a little on the way back, having no umbrella.

The sun rises again.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
